


Mirror, Mirror

by bibliosoph



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Alternate Universe, Evil Plot, F/F, F/M, Injury, M/M, Poison, Running Away, Snow White AU, True Love, alex is the huntsman, castle - Freeform, henry is snow white
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:01:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29705139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliosoph/pseuds/bibliosoph
Summary: Henry and Alex used to be thick as thieves––they used to be best friends who knew each other's secrets. But, when tragedy struck, the two grew apart. Now, on the eve of Henry's twentieth birthday, the two of them are going to start seeing a lot more of each other, even if they don't know that yet.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, June Claremont-Diaz/Nora Holleran/Percy "Pez" Okonjo
Comments: 21
Kudos: 33





	1. The Wishing Well

Even before everything happened, the courtyard has always been Henry’s favorite place on the castle grounds. The old, cracked cobblestone feels familiar under his feet as he walks around the perimeter with a watering can in hand, tending to the flower garden his mother planted there all those years ago. She used to take him out to the courtyard and show Henry the seeds––he always thought it was fascinating how something so little and fragile could grow into something so big and strong. She used to press the little seeds into the palm of his hands, bring his knuckles to her lips, and kiss them.

 _“Because they need love to grow,”_ she would tell him, voice soft as silk. _“Just like we do_.”

Now, years have gone by and those small seeds have become the most gorgeous rose bushes. Henry tends to them everyday and, when the roses are plump enough, he picks a few and takes them to his parents’ graves, replacing the old ones with beautiful fresh ones. While he’s there, deep in the forest just outside the castle in the small meadow where his parents’ graves reside, he’ll bring his palm to his lips, kiss it, and then touch the smooth stone of the headstones. Even if his parents are gone now, they deserve his love, too.

Today, the sky is clear. The roses are looking absolutely lovely––plump, colorful, and healthy as ever. He goes to the side of the castle where the watering can resides, set up against the rough stone of the castle walls, and finds it empty. He picks it up and takes it to the old well in the center of the courtyard, sitting down on the edge of it as he draws water up from its depths. He looks around the vibrant courtyard as he pulls the pail up, watching the birds that fly around the feeders and baths he’s brought here over the years.

In the distance, he hears the old iron gate creak. This is the only entrance to the forest from the castle––the other side, where the main gate is, leads to the village. He turns his head to look at the courtyard gate, already knowing who he’s going to see any moment now.

Sure enough, Alex steps into the courtyard, a wild boar slung over his shoulders. They see each other like this often––Alex is the official Huntsman of the kingdom and is tasked with hunting game for the royal family to eat. He’s the best in the kingdom; his skills are held in the highest esteem in his profession. His father, too, was a huntsman, and taught Alex everything he knows. They used to be close, actually, Alex and Henry. They grew up in the castle together, chasing each other around and playing in the courtyard or sword fighting with sticks on the training field. Things changed when Henry’s parents died in the accident and they changed once again when Alex’s father died and Alex had to take over as the Huntsman. They used to be so close––they used to share everything with each other. When Henry’s parents died, Alex’s shoulder was the one Henry cried upon nearly every night until he could stomach sleeping alone again. But, apparently, being the Huntsman means Alex has little time for anything but his duties.

The problem with this distance between them is that Henry has no idea how to address him now. Every single time he sees Alex across the courtyard, his stomach does a series of backflips and complicated gymnastics as he tries to figure out what exactly to say or do to come across as pleasant but detached. Most times, honestly, he gets out a mangled stutter and a wave that makes Alex smile and shake his head before he heads back into the castle.

This time, he thinks he might try saying “hello” or something along those lines, just to shake it up.

The problem with his plan is, though, that Alex always looks so damn _beautiful_ in the courtyard. Well, Henry supposes that he looks beautiful just about anywhere, but he looks especially beautiful out here among the roses. His uniform certainly helps––short sleeves that show the tight muscle of Alex’s arms, a belt that hangs low on his hips, a bow and a quiver slung over his shoulders, and tight, soft pants that help him run unhindered in the forest while he chases down whatever prey he has his sights on.

Whatever he’s going to say gets caught in his throat as Alex reaches up to adjust the boar and his muscles flex with the movement. Henry swallows a lump in his throat at the sight of it and a slight whimper leaves his mouth.

Alex turns his head at the sound, his curly hair bouncing. They make eye contact for a moment and, oh _God_ , Henry forgot how beautiful his eyes are.

“Hey,” Alex says, an easy smile spreading across his face.

“Hello,” Henry replies, turning to fill the watering can so Alex can’t see the immense blush painted across his cheeks.

He hears footsteps on the cracked stones––they’re coming closer.

“You still gardening?” Alex asks, a lot closer now than he was a moment ago.

Henry turns, setting the can on the side of the well beside himself. “Erm, yes,” he says. He clears his throat. “Every day.”

Alex beams at him, eyes bright. “That’s great,” he says. “You’ve always loved it out here.”

Henry nods and looks down at the ground. Alex’s boots are covered in mud and grass. Even before he became the Huntsman, Alex was always dirty––he loved running around in the muck and playing in the dirt. It was always something they laughed about: Alex all covered in muck and Henry too afraid to get his hands dirty. Until, that is, Alex showed him how much fun it could be to just let loose once in a while.

“Large boar,” Henry notes, not knowing what else to say.

Alex chuckles and it’s like music to Henry’s ears. “Yeah, well, your birthday’s tomorrow and I know it’s your favorite.”

Henry stares at him for a moment in disbelief, completely lost and bewildered. Henry, of course, remembers every single detail that Alex has ever blessed him with, but he never expected Alex to remember such things about Henry. After everything that happened, he sort of assumed that Alex had lost interest in their friendship and in Henry completely, but maybe he really just has been swamped with work. Henry knows how his grandmother can be––he knows that she’s probably keeping Alex on his toes.

“Thank you,” Henry says sincerely. “Will you be at the feast?”

Alex shakes his head. “Nah, staff’s not really invited unless they’re working the party.”

Henry nods in understanding. “Right,” he says. “Of course.”

Alex smiles and starts to head off in the direction of the castle.

“Wait,” Henry calls.

Alex turns.

“What if I invited you? Personally?”

Alex chuckles and shakes his head. “Sorry, I really can’t.”

Henry wants to ask him why he can’t come––wants to ask him what’s so damn important that he has to miss Henry’s twentieth birthday––but he says nothing. Instead, he turns back to the watering can and runs his fingers over the cool metal for a moment before he stands and turns his attention back to the flowers.

* * *

High in the castle, in a tower facing the courtyard, Mary stands at the window and watches a peculiar scene unfold below. Though it’s hardly uncommon to see Henry in the courtyard, as he likes tending to the roses, it’s strange to see him interact with the Huntsman. The two used to be thick as thieves when they were young children, as Mary recalls, but her own meddling and demands separated them over two years ago when she called upon Alex to pick up his father’s mantle. The young prince and his childhood friend were dangerous together––she could see it from the way the young prince looked at the Huntsman. There was something powerful in his eyes; something that, given the time to flourish, could come to ruin her completely. It was the same look she had seen in her daughter’s eyes when she looked upon Arthur all that time ago.

She’s done everything in her power to keep the young prince away from the Huntsman––she’s practically forbade their friendship. She keeps the Huntsman busy all day and night in order to keep him from talking to the young prince, for she knows of the possible danger that could come if they spent too much time together. The fact that the Huntsman is finding time in the day to speak to the prince means that he must be punished for such transgressions––she’ll have to see to that later.

She sighs and turns away from the window and looks to the fabric-covered object to her right. She steps over to it and yanks the cloth off, revealing a glimmering mirror. She runs her wrinkled fingers along the ornate, golden edges of the mirror, feeling the magic light her up from the inside out.

“Mirror, mirror,” she whispers, summoning the magic within in the mirror forward.

She got this mirror ages ago––it’s one of her best friends, closest confidants, and most trusted advisors. Ever since the accident that took the lives of Catherine and Arthur, she’s asked it the same question every year on this very day. It always has the same reply which is a relief to her––she’d hate for it to say anything else.

From a haze, a face comes forth in the mirror, its eyes peering into her own.

“My Queen,” the mirror-man says.

Mary smiles, happy that the mirror addresses her so politely. “Mirror, mirror on the wall,” she says, “who will be the next to rule them all?”

It’s the question she asks every year. She’s been grooming Philip for the job since the accident but, now that Henry is twenty, she wants to ensure that everything is still in order for Philip to take the throne. Beatrice is, of course, not even an option––she’s last in line for the throne given the fact that she’s a woman.

The mirror stares at her for a second before its lips start moving. “Henry,” the mirror says, “will be the next one to rule them all. A king he will be, and a fine one indeed.”

Mary feels her fists clench by her sides. “You must be wrong,” she seethes, certain that this is an error on the part of the mirror and not what is to come.

“It is true,” the mirror says, “Henry is to be the next king to sit upon the throne.”

Angrier than she recalls ever being, Mary grunts and throws the fabric back over the mirror, silencing it. She fumes silently for a second before she gets an idea. She walks to the door of the chamber and opens it to speak to the guards standing on the other side.

“Summon the Huntsman,” she says, “I have a special job for him.”


	2. The Huntsman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Come find me on [tumblr](https://bibliothesoph.tumblr.com/)!

Oscar Diaz never told his son much about his job. He liked to talk a lot and about a lot of different things––his times at the tavern, castle gossip, stories from his wild youth––but never about his job. A young Alexander Claremont-Diaz often asked his father about his job, even though he never got many answers. He was, even as a child, ever curious and inquisitive. He always wanted to learn as much as he could about whatever he could which, of course, included his father’s profession. Oscar was, back in the old days, Alex’s hero. He looked up to him––he wanted to be like him. He thought his father was smart and funny and everything he wanted to be as a grown up, including his job.

 _“It’s not for you to know, mijo_ ,” Oscar would tell him, _“it’s grown up stuff_.”

Well, Alex never thought Oscar would be so right.

Now that he’s grown, and now that he’s taken over as the role of the Huntsman since Oscar’s passing, he desperately wishes that his father had told him more about what exactly the job entailed. When the Queen approached him about the job, he had said yes immediately. He knew that, without the job, there would be no reason for her to keep him in the castle. His mother had long since gone––left soon after the divorce––and Oscar was the last thing keeping Alex housed, fed, and clothed by the royal family. Without Oscar, Alex feared that he would be banished or kicked out without even a moment’s notice and that, of course, would not do.

So, without even thinking about it, he took the job. It was the only way to keep him in the castle––to keep him near _Henry_. God, he couldn’t even stomach the thought of being away from Henry. Henry needed him to be there and within arm’s reach. Henry needed a shoulder to cry on and a bed to crawl into when the nightmares were too insufferable to sleep through on his own. Henry needed Alex more than he needed anyone else. With Pez gone, Alex was all that Henry had left apart from Beatrice who, of course, often had her own royal duties to tend to. So Alex took the job. He thought it would be fine––really, he did. He thought that the small bits of information his father told him were true. He thought it would just be hunting in the woods, getting game, and bringing it back to the castle for the royal family. It would probably be time-consuming, sure, but he would still have plenty of time for Henry.

Well, the job ended up being a lot more than he bargained for.

As it turned out, it wasn’t just hunting game. It was hunting, sure, but the Queen requested a lot more than animals. And it was time-consuming. And soul-crushing. And Alex was completely miserable.

Even though he had some time to spare, he never spent it with Henry. The guilt that came with everything he had to do for his job made it impossible for him to even _breathe_ sometimes, let alone be a good friend to Henry. In fact, he didn’t talk to anyone––he didn’t trust himself not to break down and spill all of his darkest secrets to anyone who would listen. And even though Alex had been there for Henry’s darkest hours, he couldn’t bring himself to put his own darkness on Henry. Everything he’d done was too much for him to handle, let alone to put on Henry’s shoulders. So, given this, he tried to steer clear of his former best friend. It was just better that way––it was better if they didn’t talk and if they didn’t know each other the same as they once had.

Alex is the Huntsman: he’s capable of hunting down his own damn demons.

It’s still painful to see him, though. It makes his heart clench whenever he sees him walking down the hall or tending to the roses in the courtyard. It makes him sick to his stomach to know that he lost the most important person in his life when the whole fucking point of all of this was to keep him close. To keep him safe.

There’s a knock on his door.

It’s the eve of Henry’s twentieth birthday––the one he got that wild boar for. There’s supposed to be a massive feast tomorrow with a jester and everything to celebrate twenty years of Henry in the world––the best twenty years the world has ever known. Alex won’t be at the feast though, of course, because the Queen would have his head before she allowed him to be treated like a guest instead of what he is. And what he is is her hitman. Her pawn.

He sighs and sets down his glass of whiskey, getting up from the armchair in front of the fireplace to see who’s decided to pay him a visit. When he opens the door, he finds himself staring at a castle guard. He recognizes him––he’s one of the Queen’s own.

“Huntsman,” the guard says. Alex hasn’t bothered to learn his name or, for that matter, anyone’s name. They’re all pompous and ridiculous like “Basil” or “Geoff.” He’s sure that saying the names would make him gag in horror and disgust.

“Lemme guess,” Alex sighs, folding his arms across his chest, “the Queen requests my presence for another job?”

The guard nods. “Yes, she––”

He holds up a hand to silence him. “I’m gonna stop you right there. In case she didn’t know, it’s dark outside. Plus, I already did my job today. Tell her that, whatever it is, I’ll get to it in the morning.”

He goes to close the door but the guard sticks his foot out, stopping it from closing all the way. “I’m afraid she’s insisting, Huntsman. You’ll have to come with me.”

“Fine,” he groans, “let’s go.”

He follows the guard out, closing the door behind him, and down the familiar twists and turns of the castle corridors. His room, the one he’s known all his life, is connected to a series of secret passages that take him to the Queen’s chambers. When he was younger, he thought it was to keep her safe if there was a threat or something, but now he knows that it’s to allow the Huntsman to answer her every beck and call without raising suspicions. If anyone else were to see him going to her chambers at odd hours, they would surely have questions about the true demands of his positions.

When he gets to her chambers, she’s waiting in her large, mahogany chair by the fire, just as she always is for such calls. He gets down on one knee in front of her and bows his head, just as he always does for such calls. It’s happened so many times at this point that his body just takes over––it’s just instinct now.

“Your Majesty,” he says. Again, instinct.

“Rise,” she tells him, voice cold as ice.

He does. He stands as straight as he can––she gets snappy if he slouches.

“I have a job I need you to do,” she says.

“Where and how long?” It’s always his question––he needs to know what to pack.

“This is a different kind of assignment,” she explains.

He gets his hopes up for a second––maybe this isn’t the kind of assignment he thought it was.

“Henry’s twentieth birthday feast is tomorrow night.”

He nods.

“I’m afraid,” she sighs, “that it’s the last feast he’ll have.”

Alex doesn’t understand where this is going. Normally, he has at least some idea of what she’s about to ask of him. This, though, is completely unexpected.

“You know how Henry is a man of habit; he does the same things over and over again. Like tending to that garden of his, for instance. Right below my window.”

Alex swallows. He did his best to make the conversation quick––he didn’t linger and he didn’t say anything of meaning. It was a conversation in passing. It was hardly a conversation at all. “Yes,” he says, still unsure of where this is going. Is this a threat? Is she upset with him for talking to Henry at all?

“Well, one of those habits is taking flowers to his parents’ graves after his birthday feast.”

Alex knows this––he went with him the first time. He held his hand, he made a speech. He held Henry in his arms while he sobbed his heart out.

“Yes,” he says again.

“When he goes to visit their graves,” she continues, “you will follow him.”

His eyebrows shoot up. His heart is racing in his chest. “I will?”

She nods. “You will. And, when he is far from the castle, you are to kill him.”

A surprised gasp escapes Alex’s throat. He’s sure that he didn’t hear that correctly––he’s sure that Henry’s _grandmother_ did not just ask him to kill her grandson. The very notion is ridiculous, right? Why would she ever want to murder Henry? What has he done but be wonderful and beautiful and smart and brave and kind and everything good in the world? It makes no sense. He must have heard it wrong.

“You… _what_?”

She scowls at him. “Save it, Huntsman,” she seethes, “you’ve done this sort of thing before.”

Well, while that might be true, it’s really _not_. Sure, he’s killed before. She makes him kill all the time. What she hasn’t done, though, is make him kill the one person he cares about more than anyone else in the entire fucking world. She hasn’t asked him to kill the only good thing he’s ever known. She hasn’t asked him to kill the light of his fucking life.

“I––”

“You are to bring me his heart,” she goes on, as if he’s never spoken at all, “when the deed is done. Then, once I have it, you will be given…a _vacation_ of sorts. Where you spend it I do not care, so long as you are far from the castle.”

Alex stares at her for a moment, still in complete disbelief. Of all of the things she’s asked of him––all of those terrible, horrible, unspeakable things––this is by far the worst. The thought of it makes his stomach churn and makes bile creep up his throat. His hands are shaking and he has no idea what to say or do in this moment. He can’t exactly tell her that he won’t do it because she would definitely have his head if he disobeyed a direct order. And he knows this is some kind of test to see just how loyal to the crown he will be, just like his father likely was. The thing is, though, that he’s _not_ his father––he never could be. Maybe, if his father had actually told him about what the job entailed, he would be better prepared for this. As it stands, he’s just a lost, confused kid who has clearly gotten himself in too deep.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he says, voice quaking.

She rolls her eyes at him. “Grow up, Huntsman. You’ve done this before.”

Part of him is itching to argue that no, in fact, he has _not_ done this before, but he knows better. Instead, he holds his tongue and nods.

“You are dismissed,” she says, waving her hand dismissively.

He nods and goes to leave the room. His hand is on the door.

“Huntsman.”

He turns.

“You won’t fail.”

He takes a deep breath. “You’ll get your heart."


	3. The Heart of a Prince

Henry has never enjoyed the birthday feasts that being a member of the royal family demands. Even when he was a young child, he always loathed the attention. Well, when he was a _very_ young child, he just hated the itchy, pompous outfits he had to wear for them. When he was old enough to understand that he had to sit through the long dinner, the boring conversations, the fake speeches, and the uncomfortable clothing, he just hated the fact that the feast had to take place at all. Even when his parents were around––when things were supposed to be _easier_ ––he still despised the spotlight and the whole fuss over one silly day.

Alex, though, always made it more tolerable. Alex would whisk him away into dark corners so the two of them could giggle and make fun of the especially snobbish attendees. And, when Henry was resigned to sit at the front of the room with the rest of his family during the dinner and the speeches, his eyes could always find Alex’s in the crowd before him, smiling to try and reassure him that everything would be okay. When he looks back on it all, he thinks that it was at those insufferable birthday feats that he first fell in love with Alex or, at least, it was when he _knew_ he was in love with Alex. Perhaps it was because that, in a sea of strange faces, his eyes always found Alex’s. In the most crowded of rooms, Henry will _always_ find Alex.

This birthday is especially difficult for him. Twenty years old. Five years without his parents here with him. Two years without Alex by his side. The last birthday, the first one without Alex at the feast, was sort of tolerable because Pez was there to keep him calm. Now, though, he’s completely alone. He supposes that Beatrice will be some sort of calming presence, even though she won’t be seated next to him. She’ll be at the long table with the rest of the royal family which means that, since Henry will sit to the Queen’s left and Philip to her right, and Beatrice beside Philip, he won’t even be able to see her unless he strains his neck.

One of the servants helps him into his clothing for the feast. Normally he’s capable of dressing himself, but the feast-wear is far too complicated for him to manage on his own. There are all sorts of various parts and fastenings that he can’t reach or figure out on his own. So, just before the feast is set to begin, he and one of the servants––William––are preparing him for the celebration. It’s not that he’s nervous, exactly, but he’s certainly uneasy. Even the tonic from the physician doesn’t do much to soothe his nerves or anxiety today.

It’s almost like there’s something _off_ in the world today. He can’t pinpoint why he feels like there’s something wrong but he just does. He can practically feel it in his bones––it’s heavy and strange and it makes his stomach feel a bit queasy.

It follows him down to the hall and then all through the long, tedious process of the birthday feast. It pulls his gaze to the spot where Alex once sat but, this time, he’s not met with Alex’s beautiful brown eyes but, instead, the eyes of a complete stranger.

When the after dinner drinks start flowing, he makes his escape. The funny thing about the birthday feast is that no really cares if he’s there or not––it’s all just to make the crown look like it actually gives two shits about him when, as he knows, his grandmother couldn’t care less. So, thankfully, no one cares when he slips out of a back door and into the courtyard.

It’s a silly tradition, he supposes, but he can’t imagine not doing it every single year. When he finally manages to leave the feast and its noise behind, he always heads to the courtyard to get fresh roses to bring to his parents. It breaks his heart that they aren’t here with him and, by bringing them roses, it almost feels like, just for a split second, that his parents are still with him. Alex came with him the first time and offered Henry a sturdy shoulder to cry on. Even before he was the Huntsman, he always strong––stronger than Henry could ever be.

He plucks the plumpest roses he can manage, being careful to avoid the thorns as he does. Once he has a handful, he pulls the hood of his cloak up and over his head, sticks the roses into his belt, and grabs the lantern and the sword he keeps in the courtyard for these very occasions. Logically, wandering into the forest alone under the cover of night is not the wisest idea but, without Alex by his side, he has to brave it in solitude. He supposes that a guard could come with him for security but it would feel disrespectful to his parents––it would feel like he’s sullying their graves.

He holds the lantern up to light the dark, familiar path to the gravesite. It’s a path he’s walked a thousand times by now––he knows it like he knows the back of his hand. Normally, even in the darkness, it feels achingly familiar. His steps are always heavy when he walks this pathway but there’s a confidence to them because he knows exactly where it leads and exactly what to expect. The royal family are the only people that know about this site, too––there’s a much more public one in the chapel connected to the castle. This one, the final resting place of his parents, is completely private.

There’s no reason, given this, that he should feel like he’s being watched. But he does. It sends a shiver down his spine as he tightens his grip on the sword in his hand. He’s never actually had to use it on one of these trips; he’s not sure he’d be able to, honestly. Philip has always been the military one of the family, not Henry. He’s barely had any training at all with the sword apart from his experiences in his youth with Alex. Bringing the sword has always just been more of a comfort and an extra security measure than it has been actually useful.

A twig snaps behind him.

In an instant, he’s turning on his heels, eyes clenched in fear, sword in hand and outstretched to slash whatever beast or bandit dares intrude on his evening.

Much to his surprise, he feels his blade penetrate something as he blindly swings it.

Following this, he hears a sharp hiss of pain.

Slowly, he opens his eyes and sees the last face he was expecting to see out here.

 _Alex_.

“Christ,” Henry gasps, eyes wide in horror as he sees the large gash across Alex’s chest. The blade sliced right through his shirt and went deeper than he was expecting it to, digging into Alex’s flesh and leaving it raw and bloody. In an instant, his hands are hovering over Alex’s chest as he tries to assess the damage and figure out what to do. Given Alex’s brutal line of work, he’s sure that he’ll have an idea or two on how to patch himself up.

“Henry,” Alex tries, voice hoarse.

“I’m sorry,” Henry cries, cutting him off.

“Henry––”

“I thought you were a bandit,” he tries to explain. “If I had known it was you, I wouldn’t have––”

“ _Henry_ ,” Alex says again, voice loud and harsh.

Henry freezes at stares at him for a moment. It isn’t until he looks at Alex completely––takes the whole of him in––that he realizes Alex has his bow and quiver on him and both a daggerand a sword sheathed in his belt. Henry stares at the weapons for a moment before cocking his head to the side and looking at Alex.

“Why would––”

Alex looks down at his boots like he’s ashamed.

Henry’s blood runs cold with the implications. A shaking hand goes to his mouth as tears spring in his eyes. Even if he felt physically capable of speaking in his moment, he doesn’t think he’d even want to. There are no words to describe how he’s feeling right now.

“I couldn’t,” Alex assures him, voice nearly breaking. “I _can’t_.”

Henry closes his eyes for a second and takes a few deep centering breaths. “She won’t just take your word for it,” he whispers. He wonders if she threatened Alex in some way––if she blackmailed him into this. What will Alex have to lose so Henry can live? Whatever it is, it’s far from a fair trade. Henry would give anything to keep Alex safe, even if that means he no longer gets to be here.

“She wants your heart,” Alex tells him.

The thing is; Alex already _has_ his heart. He’s always had his heart––all of Henry has always belonged to those dark curls and sparkling brown eyes. He was a goner the moment he laid eyes on Alex and felt his soft skin against his own.

“Take it,” Henry whispers.

Alex stares at him for a moment. He opens his mouth. Shuts it. “ _What_?”

“Take it,” he repeats, stepping closer to him. “Take it and bring it to her.”

He’s not sure what he’s expecting Alex to do or say here, but he’s certainly not expecting him to start laughing as tears stream down his face. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shakes his head, terribly confused.

“I’m not doing _shit_ to you, Henry. Fuck, seriously? You think I could do that and just, what, be _okay_ with it? Live the rest of my life knowing I’d taken yours?”

Henry stares at him for a moment, looking into those brown eyes that he once found so familiar and comforting. Once, they were the eyes of a friend; then they were the eyes of a helpless crush. An unrequited love. When he looks into these eyes now, he isn’t quite sure what he sees. They’re the same color that they’ve always been––brown with hints of shimmering gold scattered around––but there’s something else there now, too. It’s something dark and stomach-churning, almost like they’ve seen unimaginable horrors. There are dark bags underneath them that didn’t used to be there or, at least, were not nearly as pronounced.

Despite these changes, he _knows_ these eyes. He knows that, when he looks into them, everything is okay. These eyes, though they’ve changed, would never lie to him.

“We both know what she’s capable of,” Henry says. “If you don’t give her what she wants––”

“I told her the truth,” Alex snaps, cutting him off. “I told her she’d get her heart. Luckily, I don’t think she’ll know the difference between yours and another’s.”

Suddenly, Henry doesn’t recognize the man before him at all. “You can’t kill an innocent to protect me,” he gasps, truly horrified by the concept.

Alex rolls his eyes and it feels like the past few years never happened at all––it feels like they’re two young things just playing a simple game with a friend. “These woods are crawling with _deer_ ,” he explains.

Henry feels his cheeks flush, feeling a bit stupid.

“My sister lives nearby,” Alex goes on, “in a cottage just beyond the stream. It’s just beyond the kingdom’s lines––you’ll be safe there.”

Henry is already shaking his head. While keeping himself alive is certainly a priority, Alex is his main concern right now. The cut on his chest is nasty––he needs medical attention. “And what of you then? You go back to the Queen and hope she doesn’t have your head when she eventually figures out the heart is a deer’s and not my own?”

“I’ll join you,” Alex assures him, voice soft as it used to be when he spoke to Henry during one of his more stressful moments, “I promise. I have to go back, give her the heart, and grab a few things before I join you. Do you need anything? Clothes?”

He’s about to shake his head again but he realizes one very important thing he left behind. “David,” he says.

“Okay. I’ll bring him. Now _go_.”

Before Henry even has the chance to thank Alex for saving his life, Alex is already gone––disappeared into the thick of the trees around them.

Henry stands alone for a moment, chest heaving, and tries to assure himself that Alex knows what he’s doing. If Alex says everything will be okay, everything _will_ be.

Just as he turns to find this cottage, he hears the unmistakeable screech of an animal in pain.

Well, it looks like Alex got his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Come find me on [tumblr](https://bibliothesoph.tumblr.com/)!


	4. The Cottage

Alex has sustained many injuries over the course of his life. Even before he was the Huntsman, he was always accident prone. It was a combination of curiosity and recklessness that led him to his various injuries––he’s probably had them all at this point.

As he walks back to the castle, though, he notes that this one is pretty bad. In his experience with injuries, he knows that this one likely needs medical treatment––it’s large enough to possibly need stitches and it certainly needs cleaning. It stings when he moves his upper body and he can’t help but let out of a hiss each time pain blooms from the injury, especially when he stands over the body of a large doe with a knife in his hand. While he obviously prefers to kill animals, but it still makes his stomach uneasy when he takes any life, even if it is the life of a doe. It’s necessary, though, because it’s the life of the doe for the life of Henry which is, of course, no contest.

When he gets the heart, he stuffs it into one of the pouches attached to his belt, and makes his way back to the castle. It’s completely dark outside––the sun has long since disappeared below the trees. Maybe, a few years ago, he would have needed a lantern to guide his way back, but he’s been the Huntsman long enough that he knows these woods inside and out. He knows how to get back to castle on pure instinct and memory alone.

The Queen’s guards wait for him by the entrance to her chambers––the one on the outside of the castle. They open the door for him, clearly expecting him, and he makes his way up the winding stone staircase to the room in her tower where they always meet. The trip up the stairs is agony––he thinks he underestimated just how serious this injury is.

By the time he gets to her chambers, he’s panting and sweaty.

“Huntsman,” she says, paying his injuries only a raised eyebrow. She summons him forward with her hand.

He bows, then stands, then removes the pouch from his belt and drops it on the table in front of her. “Your heart,” he says, wincing a bit at the movement.

She looks down at the leather pouch and then up at him before she moves to pull it open. “This is Henry’s?”

He nods, trying not to look nervous.

She stares down at the heart for another moment before she sighs and looks back up at him. “Very well,” she says.

He knows that this is his dismissal, but there’s still one more thing he needs to do.

She catches on and glares at him, likely troubled that he isn’t just running off for his “vacation.”

“Well?” she asks.

He takes a step forward, bowing his head. “I had an idea,” he says, trying to sound strong instead of absolutely scared shitless. She motions for him to continue. “The people will start asking questions about his whereabouts––they’re sure to notice he’s missing.”

Her glare hardens. “Oh, and are _you_ going to tell them the truth?”

He swallows nervously. “Of course not, Your Majesty. I just––what if I make it look like he ran away?”

Terrible, nauseating silence follows. He clenches his eyes shut, expecting to feel the swift release of death come his way any moment now. He braces himself for impact and thinks that, if the last thing he did with his life was save Henry’s, not everything has been a waste.

Death doesn’t come.

Instead, there’s the sound of metal hitting the mahogany table before him.

He opens his eyes and sees a shimmering golden key in front of him––the key to Henry’s chambers.

“Be off now, Huntsman,” the Queen says. “Enjoy your vacation.”

He nods and grabs the key before leaving her chambers.

The moment the door shuts behind him, he breathes a sigh of relief and leans against the wall for a moment to collect himself before he heads to his own chambers.

All through his life, he’s never had many possessions. Most of his personal items are just weapons that he uses on the job and clothing he wears for the job––not many things really feel like _his_. Of the few of his possessions that are his own, he only plans on bringing a few of them on the journey to his sister’s cottage in the forest. Quickly, he shoves clothing into a satchel––not much for he figures he can wash them and rewear them. The weapons he might need are already on him so he packs no others. Next, he gathers the few personal items he cannot bring himself to leave without. These items include a brown leather jacket that smells like smoke and whiskey––the jacket his father always wore––a letter from his mother, and an old charcoal drawing of Henry the day of his coronation to be Prince. He’s never considered himself a great artist which is why, of course, he asked June to render it for him.

With his own items packed and slung around a shoulder, he makes his way to Henry’s chambers, using his key to let himself in. The moment he enters, David is on his hind legs, whining and scratching at Alex’s shin for attention. He bends down and rubs his ears, looking around the chambers for other items Henry might require.

“I know, buddy,” Alex tells him, standing up to start looking through drawers and cabinets.

David follows at his heels, his tail wagging as he trots behind Alex.

Alex looks at the great desk by the window first, finding an old, leather-bound journal sitting in the center of it. He smiles as he picks it up, recognizing it to be the one he had given Henry for a birthday at one point in time. He shoves it in his satchel before moving to the armoire to grab clothing, shoving that in his satchel, too. Honestly, he doesn’t know Henry well enough these days to know what other items might be of importance, so he checks the bedside tables, figuring that the drawers there might be where he holds his most precious objects. The first one is nothing but empty vials. The second is full of dog treats. The third, though, is filled with various papers. The first one reads “My Dearest Henry” at the top, so he grabs the pile––all bound together with red string––and shoves them into his satchel.

He scoops David up in his arms and leaves the chambers behind.

David stops to mark a plethora of trees along the way to the cottage. Alex wishes he would just walk––the longer they travel, the more intolerable the pain becomes. Each step grows harder than the last as they make their way through the thick of the forest, but each step also brings him closer to his journey’s end. He walks quickly, begging David to keep up with him, in hopes to make it to the cottage before first light and with enough time for June to help his injury before it gets worse. He needs water, too––he can’t believe he forgot to pack some for the journey.

By the time he arrives to the cottage, he feels like he might faint before he even makes it to the door. By some miracle, though, he makes it to the door and is able to knock upon the wood while still standing. Judging by the light pouring from the windows, the house is still awake and will hopefully answer the door quickly.

A moment later, June’s face appears. In an instant, she’s flinging herself into his arms, crying and holding him tight. It’s been ages since they last saw each other and, normally, Alex would love nothing more than to melt into her soothing embrace. Today, though, he’s far too weak to stand much longer.

“You’re hurting me,” he winces, feeling new plain bloom throughout his chest.

She pulls back and looks down at his chest, her happiness at seeing him gone the instant she sees the slash on him. “ _Alex_ ,” she cries, tugging him inside by his arm. “Nora, Pez,” she calls into the house, “clear the couch.”

He’s pulled to the fireside and pushed down onto the couch by it, already feeling like it’s far too warm here. June pulls off his satchel and his shirt, setting them both on the ground beside him.

“Lie down,” she instructs.

He complies, unable to speak. The pain is really catching up with him now––each breath is worse than the last. Once he’s lying down, June runs off.

By the fireplace, he sees Henry looking absolutely terrified. His blue eyes are blown wide and his mouth hangs slightly ajar as he stares at Alex, his hands soothing David who sits in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, taking a step forward, “I didn’t mean––”

“Henry, stay there,” Nora demands, emerging from another room with a bowl of water and strips of cloth to clean his wound. She moves to Alex’s side and kneels, surveying his injuries. “Jesus, what did you use?”

“It––an old sword,” Henry stammers, looking horrified and repulsed as Nora starts to clean his wounds.

Nora rolls her eyes and continues to clean his wound. He hisses at the feel of the water on it.

“How’s the patient?” Pez asks, entering with a mortar and pestle that he rhythmically beats. Alex assumes it’s probably some sort of healing paste made from herbs nearby.

Alex grunts in response.

“ _Babes_ ,” Pez frowns, setting a hand on Alex’s forehead, “you’re burning up.”

“It’s infected,” Nora explains, pulling a fresh strip of cloth from her pile. “We need June.”

“June,” Pez calls, craning his neck towards the darkened hallway where he and Nora emerged from, “how’s that spell book coming along?”

Right on cue, June emerges with a heavy volume in her hands. Frantically, she swipes through the pages as she makes her way over to Alex. She looks down at the wound on his chest and then back at her book, brow furrowed and her lip tugged between her teeth. “We need a potion,” she sighs, “and the ingredients are…hard to come by.”

Nora shakes her head and pulls back, seemingly done with cleaning the wound to the best of her ability. “Not great odds of him making it through without that potion.”

“Thanks,” he manages, trying to laugh. The laugh turns into a sputtering and painful cough and he winces in pain. From the corner of his eye, he sees Henry take a half step forward, trying to help him, before he remembers what Nora asked of him. He remains rooted to the spot.

“Paste is done,” Pez says, handing it to Nora.

Nora nods, takes it, and starts applying it to the wound. “This’ll help keep him alive,” she says, “but we need to do something about the fever. Henry, go get fresh linens and water from the stream outside.”

Henry stares at her for a moment before he nods and runs off to comply, setting David down on the ground. David follows him outside and Alex watches them go, wondering what exactly is running through Henry’s head. If Henry is the same man that Alex once knew as well as he knows himself, then Henry is probably beside himself with guilt. He’s always had a guilty conscious, even if he didn’t do anything. He’s always felt the guilt of others like a heavy weight upon his shoulders, making apologies for his grandmother and his brother and every other person close to him who never acted with the same kindness and grace that he possesses. It’s one of his best and worst qualities, Alex thinks. Empathy has always been one of Henry’s greatest strengths, but that empathy can break him down as he tries to lift others up. It’s a heavy burden to bear––Alex wishes he had been around to help him shoulder it.

“He’s been distraught since the moment he arrived,” Nora tells him softly, rubbing the paste over his wound.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Really?”

She nods solemnly and sighs as she scoops more paste out of the bowl, spreading the last of it on his wound. It feels a bit better now, honestly, but he isn’t sure if that’s because the paste is working or if he’s just growing so used to the pain that he hardly even notices it anymore.

“He was this close to going to look for you,” June says. She sets a gentle hand on his forehead, brushing back sweaty curls. “He really cares about you.”

He nods––he knows this. It kills him sometimes, but he knows.

Pez appears by his side a moment later with a small mug. Nora helps him sit up a bit and he only winces a bit at the movement. Pez hands him the mug and he takes a whiff of the dark liquid inside of it––it burns his nostrils.

“Whiskey,” Pez supplies, grinning. “You need it.”

Well, he won’t argue with that. It’ll probably help him get to sleep, too, so he downs it. Instantly, his body is flooding with pleasant warmth from within, coaxing a soft smile out of him. Pez kisses his head and takes the mug back to the kitchen, leaving Alex alone with Nora and June.

“Sorry this is our reunion,” he mutters.

Nora rolls her eyes while June takes his hand and squeezes it. “Don’t worry about it,” she smiles, “I’m just happy to see you.”

He squeezes her hand in return. “You too, Bug,” he mumbles, eyes growing heavy as the day catches up to him. “You too.”


	5. The Nightmare

They’ve spent the night together before. When they were younger and Henry’s parents ruled the kingdom, they often let Alex stay over. And, even on nights when they did not give Alex permission to sleepover, Henry would sneak him into his chambers and the two of them would stay up talking and giggling until their eyelids were too heavy to keep open for another moment. When Henry’s parents died, Alex slept over and held him in his arms until the nightmares quelled and the tears stopped flowing. Alex would hold him like he was precious and stroke gentle fingers through his hair until he fell asleep with their hearts beating as one.

Now it is Henry’s time to return the favor.

He assures June, Nora, and Pez that he is more than capable of looking after Alex and that the three of them can retire to their room to sleep. He has a fresh pail of water and a stack of linens by his side so he can try and keep Alex’s fever at bay until the potion is ready.

David snores happily in Henry’s lap as he sits on the floor with one hand on Alex’s forehead to secure the cold linen. Alex has a restless sleep––he shakes and whines and thrashes. As Henry remembers it, Alex always used to sleep so peacefully like he had no cares in the world. His new erratic sleep makes Henry wonder what horrors he’s endured since they were friends––what terrible things he’s seen that creep his way into his dreams and turn them into nightmares. It breaks his heart to see him in such pain, even asleep, and he wishes more than anything that there was something he could do to help him.

At some point in the night––Henry can’t be sure when, exactly, since he keeps dozing off himself––he hears Alex stir again. It wakes him up with a start and he looks to Alex’s face and sees it contorted in pain. He frowns and realizes that the linen on his head is warm. Quickly, he grabs a fresh one and dips it in the pail before bringing the new, cool one to his head.

“ _Henry_ ,” Alex groans, his head turning abruptly to the side.

It’s a nightmare, certainly, but Henry doesn’t know what to do. Waking him up seems like a bad idea because it could leave him disoriented and upset. So, instead of doing anything rash, Henry just runs his hands through Alex’s sweaty, matted curls and tries to soothe him.

“It’s okay,” Henry whispers, “you’re okay.”

Alex jerks again. “ _Henry_ ,” he says again.

Henry notices that his fists are clenched by his sides––this must be some nightmare.

Alex screams and jerks again, his entire body balling up in what looks like pain.

Well, disorientation be damned––Henry _has_ to wake him up.

Desperately, Henry shakes his shoulders. “Alex,” he begs, “wake up. _Please_.”

Nothing happens so Henry shakes him harder, willing him to wake and be okay. He doesn’t know if this nightmare is worse because of the fever or if Alex always sleeps so poorly, but, either way, he can’t stand the sight of it. Alex in pain has always been his least favorite thing, and to be this close to it breaks his heart.

Suddenly, Alex gasps and shoots up, wincing in pain and clutching his chest as he does. His chest is heaving and the bandages are bloody––it must be agonizing.

“Alex,” he says again, running one hand through Alex’s curls and letting the other rub soothing circles on his back, “shh, it’s okay.”

“Henry?”

Henry gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’m here,” he whispers, “I’m here.”

Alex nods and closes his eyes, clearly trying to get his breathing to slow. “I had a nightmare,” he says, his breath still labored and ragged. “I had to––”

“You don’t have to tell me about it,” Henry says, “it’s okay.”

Alex nods again and looks around the room before his eyes settle back on Henry. “Sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Henry promises, shooting a soft smile his way. “Do you know how many times I woke you up in the middle of the night with nightmares or crying? Believe me, Alex, I really don’t mind returning the favor.”

Alex chuckles at that and it makes Henry’s heart fill with warmth. “Yeah, I remember. You could never sleep through the night.”

“I slept better when you were there,” Henry admits.

Honestly, he isn’t sure what he’s expecting Alex to say or do in response to that. What he’d like, of course, is for Alex to say that he feels the same way and that he’s missed sharing a bed with Henry––that he’s missed _Henry_. It’s the same wish he’s had for as long as he can remember, but he never seems even close to achieving it.

Alex turns his head and looks out the window where the first light of morning is peeking through the trees outside. For a moment, Henry just watches as the light touches Alex’s face, sharpening his cheek bones and the dimple on his chin. It’s annoying, really, how even a sweaty, fever-ridden Alex can look so breathtaking in any circumstances, especially right now with the morning light making him look like a figure of a painting––too beautiful for this world. While it wasn’t Alex’s attractiveness that Henry was first drawn to, he’s certainly never minded just how stunning his love looks at any given moment.

“They’ll be leaving soon,” Alex says, “to get the ingredients for the potion.”

Henry nods though he’s not sure he understands where Alex is going with this.

“We should get some more rest,” Alex continues, “and wake when they leave.”

Part of Henry’s heart sinks at his words––he wishes Alex would invite him to lie beside him and comfort him instead of just asking to go back to sleep. He yearns to comfort his love in any way that he can, in the ways that they used to comfort each other, but perhaps too much time has passed for Alex to truth him again. Perhaps Alex doesn’t feel the same way––perhaps this love is truly and forever unrequited.

Without another word, Alex turns on his side facing away from Henry. Henry watches him for a moment––watches the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes. It’s been a painful time without him, of course, but his heart swells in his chest at the idea that they might be spending a lot more time together now. Maybe, even after Alex has to return to the castle, he can come visit between jobs or something––maybe they can be at least friends again.

Henry is woken by a commotion nearby. He jolts upright and looks around the room, finding Alex still fast asleep and Pez grabbing something off the mantle place. Henry quirks an eyebrow at his old friend, wondering what he could possibly be retrieving at this hour. Then, in an instant, he recalls that Pez, June, and Nora are about to embark on a journey to fetch the herbs and ingredients needed for the potion to bring Alex back to full health.

“Morning,” he croaks, voice hoarse from sleep.

Pez turns to face him, shoving what looks like a compass in his pocket. A soft smile tugs at his lips. “Morning,” he replies.

Henry rubs the sleep from his eyes and yawns. “How long will you be gone?”

Pez shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Hard to say, darling. We’ll be back as soon as possible, though.”

Henry hums and allows himself another glance Alex’s way, watching the rise and fall of his chest.

“It’s been…what? A _year_ since we last saw each other? And yet, it seems that nothing’s changed.”

Henry turns his attention back to his friend and furrows his brow. “What?”

Pez chuckles. “Babes, I know a love-struck fool when I see one. I’m one and I share a bed with two others.”

Henry closes his eyes and hangs his head, slightly ashamed that Pez was able to recognize his feelings so easily. It’s not exactly like he’s tried to hide them from Pez or June or Nora, but he’s certainly tried to hide them from Alex––he’s fairly confident that Alex doesn’t feel the same way. It would be terribly embarrassing if, after not speaking much for so long, Alex found out about Henry’s feelings––it would surely ruin any chances they have at any sort of friendship.

“Christ,” he grumbles, tugging a hand through his messy hair, “is it _that_ obvious?”

“Clear as day, I’m afraid,” Pez muses. “Thankfully you’ll have time alone, hm?”

Henry rolls his eyes. “I’m not sure that’ll be helpful,” he admits, “since he can hardly even stand the sight of me.”

Pez moves a bit closer and kneels before him, gently rubbing David’s sleeping form. “Have faith,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Henry’s forehead, “perhaps he just needs time.”

Though it sounds unrealistic, Henry nods softly. While he wishes, more than anything, that time will solve all of his strange tension with Alex, he finds it extremely unlikely. Whatever shift has occurred between them occurred so long ago that Henry isn’t sure it’s fixable at all, let alone only over the course of a few days, especially days where Alex is practically fighting for his life.

“You were close once,” Pez reminds him, voice gentle and kind as it always is, “I’m sure everything will work out.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of Henry’s lips. Even if he’s doubtful that much will change, there’s a small spark of hope that flutters through his chest at the thought of time alone doing them some good. While he isn’t entirely sure how to rekindle the flame of their friendship, he thinks it might be possible. They were once too good of friends to simply leave that chapter of their lives behind for good––there has to be _some_ part of Alex that misses Henry as much as he does him. There are thick, seemingly impenetrable walls up between them now, but Henry will bring a wrecking ball and tear them to the ground if he must.

June and Nora appear in the doorway of the room, both dressed for a long journey through the forest. The three of them make an attractive couple––all bright eyes and sly smiles. Secrets and jokes that no one else can hope to understand. It makes Henry’s heart ache at the sight of their shared smile because he _yearns_ for that same intimacy with Alex.

“We should get going,” Nora says, “to maximize the amount of daylight.”

June nods in agreement and tightens the buckle of the satchel slung around her shoulder. She gives Nora a once over and hums approvingly before turning her attention to Pez. “Come on, babe,” she says, “we need to get moving.”

Pez gives Henry a quick hug before he joins the girls, fishing the compass out of his pocket and handing to Nora who immediately starts fiddling with it. The three of them start making their way to the door.

“Henry?” June asks, turning back to face him.

Henry looks at her with wide eyes.

“Just…take care of my brother, okay? He’s probably in a lot more pain than he’s letting on.”

It’s true––Alex is exceptionally stubborn like that. Back when they were foolish, reckless children, Alex got himself hurt on multiple occasions but always pretended that he was completely fine. Henry recalls a particularly grueling injury, a broken ankle, and how Alex tried to carry on with their sword fight like nothing had happened at all. The physician had scolded him after that which made him extremely cross and grumpy which, at the time, Henry found immensely amusing. Now, though, it’s not so funny because death is a very real, tangible option here.

“Of course,” he says, “and be safe.”

June smiles at him and then, just like that, they’re gone.

For the first time in a long time, he and Alex are completely alone for a substantial period of time. They have the entire cottage to themselves for the foreseeable future and will be undisturbed until their friends return. So, maybe all of this time and space can help them get back to a better place. Maybe this is exactly what they needed.


	6. The Horse of Courage

Horses used to terrify him.

There was no real rhyme or reason for his fear, for it was not as if he had ever been wronged or injured by a horse in his youth, yet the fear remained. It was practically unheard of for a man of his age––the age of thirteen––to not know how to ride. It was impractical, too, since horseback was by far the quickest way to travel from place to place. Despite the practicality, Alex refused to mount the four-legged beasts. To him, they seemed just as horrifying and unpredictable as dragons. They had the ability to hold his life in their hooves––to throw him off and send him to the ground in an instant.

Well, Henry wouldn’t have it.

Maybe Alex expected Henry to tease him mercilessly for this strange fear, for that would have been the appropriate reaction to such an embarrassing flaw, but he did not. Instead, Henry smiled softly at him when he heard of his fear and promised to help him conquer it.

Henry took it upon himself to teach Alex how to ride––to help him brave the saddle and ride until he itched to get back out into the fields to get back on a horse. In the beginning, Alex was terrified and Henry had to console him and assure him that, even if something happened, he would be right by Alex’s side to help in an instant.

Now, it seems, they’re very much in the same place as they were back then.

When Alex wakes, there’s a steaming cup of tea beside him. He raises an eyebrow at it and moves to sit up, leaning back on his elbows. Instantly, pain shoots through his chest. He cries out and clenches his eyes, trying to steady his breathing so his chest doesn’t hurt so much. In an instant, Henry is by his side with a reassuring hand on his shoulder, brows furrowed as he looks down at Alex’s wound.

Part of Alex wants to lean into the touch––to let himself be comforted and looked after by an old friend. While he would love nothing more than to melt into Henry’s sweet embrace, he knows that he is undeserving of it. There is far too much time between who they used to be and who they are now––too many unspeakable acts that have poisoned Alex’s heart with the darkest of things. As much as it breaks his heart to shrug off Henry’s hand, he knows that this is the only way he can keep his old friend safe.

“I made you tea,” Henry tells him, voice wavering a bit. It breaks Alex’s heart to hear him so sad and rejected, but it’s for the best. He’s no good to Henry as he is––he can’t do anything for him but hurt him.

“Thanks,” he replies, accepting the cup when Henry gives it to him. He takes a sip and sputters immediately at the terrible taste.

Henry’s face falls. “Sorry, I’ve never really made it myself before.”

Alex sets the cup down. “I’m not thirsty, anyway,” he offers.

A small, forced smile appears on Henry’s face for a moment. “Er, how are…how are you feeling?”

“Like I was stabbed with a rusty old sword,” he jokes.

Henry’s face pales.

It feels worse than the chest injury, honestly, to see him so guilty and upset with himself. Alex hadn’t meant it like that, of course, but he can’t exactly unsay it now.

He clears his throat and looks around the homey room. The fire has long since gone out and there’s a bit of chill in the air now that wasn’t there before. He shivers.

“Do you need a blanket?” Henry inquires, already going to fetch one from the basket by the fireplace. Alex smiles and holds out his hands but Henry shakes his head and drapes the blanket over Alex’s body, making sure each inch of skin below his shoulders is covered in its warmth.

“Thanks,” Alex manages, feeling a bit uncomfortable about the close contact.

“Not a problem.”

Henry sits down on a chair beside the couch and David instantly jumps up onto his lap, licking his hands until Henry pets him.

Alex just watches him for a moment. He watches the gentleness of Henry’s hands as he strokes David’s fur. There’s always been such a beautiful gentleness to him––it makes Alex’s heart burst every time he looks upon it. It’s funny to him how, despite living with Philip and the Queen, Henry’s kindness always remains strong and true. He has such a big, beautiful heart that seems unbreakable. He’s been through so many terrible things and yet he remains beautiful and kind and passionate and true through it all. It makes him so much more beautiful, Alex thinks. It makes his gorgeous blue eyes twinkle with love that draws people in.

“Thank you for getting him for me,” Henry says.

“It was nothing.”

Henry chuckles just as he used to––deep, full, and unguarded. It’s one of the most beautiful sounds Alex has ever heard.

“You act as if you do nothing of importance,” Henry muses, “like your acts of heroism and bravery aren’t commendable.”

Well, that statement startles a chuckle out of Alex, too. It’s likely one of the funniest things he’s heard in years, actually, for he has not committed a single act of bravery since he allowed himself to be torn from Henry’s side. Even when they were children, it was _Henry_ who made him brave. It was Henry who treated him with kindness and refused to laugh at his weaknesses, no matter what they were. It was Henry who offered him his hand and guided him through every misfortune life threw his way. Without Henry, Alex would have never found the strength to ride a horse or be even half of the man he was when his father died.

Now that he’s been without Henry, he’s regressed into the very thing he always feared the most: just another one of the Queen’s pawns.

“What heroism?” he laughs pitifully.

The line of confusion between Henry’s brows appears. Maybe, in another life, Alex would have been a good man; a man who could smooth that line away and not taint Henry’s good heart. “You saved my _life_ , Alex,” Henry says, “how is that not brave? You defied the Queen which is, frankly, more than I’ve ever done.”

A spark of anger courses through Alex’s veins at Henry’s words. He can’t even stop his mouth from moving. “You defy her every damn day,” he snaps.

Henry stares at him for a moment, those blue eyes blown wide in confusion. “How?”

Alex turns away, unable to look at him. Instead, he looks down at his lap. “With your kindness,” he whispers, “with your big, impenetrable heart.”

A moment of silence passes between them. For one horrifying second, Alex thinks that he’s said the entirely wrong thing and that he’s only made things worse, just as he always does.

But then, Henry manages a choked “ _Alex_.”

And, just like that, Alex can’t stand to have this conversation with him. He can’t stand to give Henry hope that he’s still the same man he was when they were friends or that there’s any good left in him at all.

“I need rest,” he says, already lowering himself down onto the couch and turning away from Henry.

Thankfully, Henry doesn’t argue with him. Alex lies there for a moment with his eyes open, trying to slow his breathing to feign sleep, until he hears Henry sigh and his footsteps padding down the hall.

It’s for the best that Alex keeps a good distance between them.

He’ll just keep telling himself that until he actually believes it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Come find me on [tumblr](https://bibliothesoph.tumblr.com/)!


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